


The Way It Was

by akaparalian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Season/Series 06, Pre-Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 15:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16370657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: It's taking Shiro some time to get used to being in a body again -- even a body that's more or less his own.“Shiro?”He turns, but there’s a solid ten seconds of delay between stimulus and reaction, no matter how much the voice may have taken him by surprise. The knot of tension in his chest seems to catch his breath and hold it in, and even as he shifts in the pilot’s chair to face the doorway, he feels disconnected from the motion, somehow, his body reacting sluggishly but his mind not there at all.





	The Way It Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



> Hi, boywonder! I hope you enjoy this! I guess it's... somewhere between a trick and a treat? Who knows. Regardless, I certainly enjoyed writing it. <3

It only takes Shiro about an hour of travelling in the Black Lion to realize there are very specific circumstances in which he _doesn’t_ feel like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin.

A large part of the problem, he decides, is that it doesn’t _feel_ like his own skin. Not yet, anyway; he can only hope that someday it will, and he’ll be able to go back to a state of being that he used to take completely for granted, which he can only describe as “not constantly on the edge of dissociating.” He’s obviously beyond grateful to be in a body again, and even one that’s more or less his. Maybe it’s just going to take an adjustment period. He’s definitely not used to being in a body again; maybe the odd, scratchy feeling will fade with time, and he’ll forget he ever used to feel so very not at home in his own bones. 

He’d hoped that something about just _being_ in Black would be enough to calm him down, that the familiarity of sitting here in the pilot’s seat and staring out into space would do _something_. He spent a lot of hours here back before he got ripped out of his body, and it was something he definitely couldn’t have when he was floating in the astral plane. It had seemed logical to him that it would help, that it would bring him back to a time before he had to wrestle with being himself-but-not-himself.

Still, that logic doesn’t mean it’s actually working.

So, for now, he’s left to try and puzzle out the right combination of stimuli to calm the anxious itching under his skin and let himself settle, because he doesn’t exactly have any other options. Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he hunches over in the pilot’s seat, long after everyone else has retreated down to their makeshift bunks in the cargo bay, steadfastly ignoring the little voice that whispers that he knows _one_ thing, at least, that he’s absolutely certain will calm him. 

But he doesn’t need to bother anyone else with this; he has to learn to handle it on his own. It’s not like they’re going to have time for the rest of the crew to sit around and take care of him. He knows they would — knows they wouldn’t mind, even — but Shiro’s better at prioritizing than that. 

“Shiro?”

He turns, but there’s a solid ten seconds of delay between stimulus and reaction, no matter how much the voice may have taken him by surprise. The knot of tension in his chest seems to catch his breath and hold it in, and even as he shifts in the pilot’s chair to face the doorway, he feels disconnected from the motion, somehow, his body reacting sluggishly but his mind not there at all.

Keith looks worried, which isn’t really news; this far out in space, without the Castle, without anything, they _all_ look worried most of the time. But Keith looks especially worried at the moment, and worried in a special way, too — a look of concern that Shiro thinks might be just for him, no matter how self-important thinking that makes him feel, and no matter how much guilt surges through him at the idea of causing Keith distress.

“Hey,” he says, eventually, too late to avoid coming across as out of the ordinary; he watches Keith’s eyes narrow, watches the pulse of something akin to worry across his features, takes a deep, steadying breath when Keith steps closer, bridging the gap between them. Shiro can feel the way the air shifts when he moves — the lion is cold out here in space, lights and heating banked a little to account for the fact that they’ve deemed this to be their sleeping period, and Keith’s presence brings a spark of warmth back into the cabin. 

“Coming to bed?” Keith asks quietly, taking another step forward. The closing distance makes Shiro shiver, a prickling sensation running over his skin wherever it’s bared to the air. 

He blinks, and in the split second his eyes are closed, Keith moves again. He reaches out and sets one hand on Shiro’s shoulder, hesitates, and then follows the line of his forearm to take his hand. He tugs lightly, but insistently, not waiting for an answer before he rephrases his question as a directive: “Come to bed.”

For a second — just a second — Shiro thinks about saying, _You’re the only thing that makes me feel grounded, makes me feel real. You’re the only thing that makes me feel like myself anymore._ His eyes flick down to where Keith’s fingers are circled loose around his wrist, and then up to meet his eyes, and he doesn’t say it, partially because the words get stuck in his throat, but also because he thinks that maybe Keith already knows. 

“Okay,” he says instead, softly, and lets Keith pull him out of the pilot’s seat, and out of the cabin and off to sleep, all the time sinking full-body into the tether of Keith’s hand on his own, that one point of contact a reminder of all the things that have stayed the same even in the midst of everything that’s changed.


End file.
